


A Miracle

by Foxtrots



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, series 4 fix-it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtrots/pseuds/Foxtrots
Summary: “He's making a funny face. I think I'll put a hole through it.” Eurus shot John. Takes place immediately after The Lying Detective.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a number of posts on tumblr about TFP being John's dream after he was shot by Eurus and I wanted to try my hand writing that.

 

 

“One miracle. For me.”

* * *

 

“He's making a funny face. I think I'll put a hole through it.”

A sudden chorus of sirens sounded. John felt a wave of relief – he was going to be saved. Sherlock and Lestrade and whoever else would take that woman wielding a weapon and lock her up for good. And John would go home and it would be as if nothing happened.

“Eurus Holmes, drop the weapon and put your hands in the air.” A voice coming from a megaphone boomed, rattling the pictures that hung on the walls. Flashing red and blue lights blinked from the windows.

A smash and crash later and Mycroft, Sherlock, Lestrade and an army of officers invaded the room, guns pointed on the sister Holmes. It was over. It was all over for her and John gave an appreciative nod to Sherlock.

“How did you find me?” Eurus still had the gun trained on John as she frowned dramatically. “I thought I was being clever.”

“Not clever enough it seems,” Mycroft replied while Sherlock stared at his sister in confusion. So many questions were running through his mind, but now wasn't the time to ask them. “It's over, Eurus. Put the gun down. If you shoot John Watson, we'll shoot you.”

John remained surprisingly calm – it wasn't his first time at gunpoint (but when he thought about it, he realised that probably wasn't a good thing).

“What difference does his life make?” she asked. “If he lives or dies, what does it matter? If I live or die, what does that matter? So many people here to protect a single life. It's silly, isn't it? We go to such lengths for one person. But what does one person matter?”

She cocked the gun.

“Stop her!” Mycroft barked. Trying to reason with her wasn't going to work. Obvious.

The officers lunged at her while she fired a bullet.

* * *

 

 

 

Molly invited herself in. In her arms was a bouquet of flowers and a helium balloon with “get well soon” written in bright colours. The hospital room was a bit stuffy and she wondered if opening a window would help. “How's he doing?” she asked as he placed the flowers at John's bedside. The balloon bobbed up against the ceiling.

“Fine.” Sherlock sat on a nearby chair and looked like he had been sitting there for quite some time. Sherlock needed a shave. 

Molly looked over John's unconscious form. Of course he didn't look good – that was to be expected when you were unconscious with a breathing tube jammed down your throat. Wires and tubes protruded from his bare arms. His chest was covered in white bandages covering the wound beneath (Eurus' aim wasn't very accurate when a mound of officers were tackling her). And even while John was unconscious, unaware of his surroundings, he didn't have a peaceful expression – his brows were knit together and his lips formed a frown as if he was silently telling everyone he hated being a patient.

“Greg told me the details.”

“Who?”

“Lestrade.”

“Oh.”

It wasn't likely John would recover. Not when he flatlined while being taken to the ambulance. At best he'd remain in that half-alive state. Beating heart, blood going through his veins, but not awake. Molly grinned. “I'm sure he'll pull through,” she said. Sherlock needed that optimism.

* * *

 

Sherlock stood over John's sleeping form. What was taking him so long? Was he thinking about something important? The wait was becoming tedious and as he waited, he began to realise the very real possibility that John would not wake up.

“Can you hear me?” he demanded. John didn't respond. “Can you hear me?” John's heart monitor steadily beeped. “This is fine, you know. This waiting. Well, not fine, but I'll do it. I'll wait. I'll wait a year if I have to. I'll wait however long it takes because you waited for me.” Sherlock pulled a face. “Well, you didn't really. You moved on and found Mary and I ruined your proposal – that was fun – but in the end you sort of waited. And I'll wait for you. I owe you that much. I  _owe_ you." 

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock didn't know how much time had passed. But he hadn't been home since the incident. Hadn't slept in a proper bed, or had a good meal. The flowers from Molly had turned shrivelled and brown, and the balloon sadly drooped in the corner. Mycroft periodically came to visit his brother, to try to persuade him to go home and rest – John wasn't going anywhere. But Sherlock refused.

Sherlock didn't even give his brother time to close the door before interrupting him: “I'm not going home. I'm staying here until he wakes.”

“Have you considered that John won't wake up?”

Sherlock scowled.

“You've had time to mourn, now it's time to move on. Leave him be. It's not as though he'll get better.”

Sherlock kept his scowl focused on the monitor.

“Each hour you spend here is giving you more false belief. Do you really think caring about him will help him? This isn't a movie, Sherlock.”

The monitor was steady. Nurses would come in each day and look at it and take notes. They'd give Sherlock a reassuring smile. Some commented on how lucky John was to have someone who was willing to spend days on end sitting in an uncomfortable chair and living off of the cafeteria food. Sherlock always said nothing to them in return. 

* * *

 

“I gave you a miracle, now you owe me one,” Sherlock said. “Just one. Just one miracle. I won't ask anything from you again.” John was silent. “I saw you that day. When you spoke to my tombstone. I saw the entire thing and it hurt me to see you like that. I wanted to reach out and let you know I was really there. I would have if it wouldn't have compromised your safety.”

* * *

 

 

“There was something I always wanted to tell you. And I never did because I suppose I was scared. And you had Mary.” Sherlock was losing hope now. The odds of him waking were growing smaller each day. “Now seems like a good time to tell you.” Even with John in this state, Sherlock found it hard to say what he really wanted to. “I love you.” Sherlock paused, waiting for John to wake up. They did in the movies. A love confession fixed everything. “I love you. I've loved you for ages. I have always loved you.”

John's eyelids began to flutter and a jolt of excitement ran through Sherlock's chest. But nothing happened. John didn't wake.

Sherlock stayed in his flat instead of the hospital room. It was nice having his own bed and cooked food from Mrs Hudson, but the flat was empty without John. It wasn't the same place without him.

* * *

 

 

The flat felt like home again. It wasn't quite the same as before and part of Sherlock knew that would happen. Things would never be the same and he had to accept that.

John was adamant to leave the hospital as soon as he awoke. The nurses had to practically tie him down in bed to make him stay so he could properly recover. And when he was able to leave, he immediately went back home to 221B.

John was a bit slower than before and walked with extra caution. Sherlock didn't accept any cases, not when his main priority was looking after John. The two spent quiet days together and at one point, Sherlock would have found those quiet days to be boring, but now he wouldn't have it any other way.

They were watching some game show together. John was growing tired and stifled another yawn. Since he came home, he had been sleepier than before. “Can I tell you something?”

“Hmm?”

“When I was... you know... out. Sometimes I could hear things. At least I think I could hear things. Might have been dreaming,” John replied.

“Hmm.”

“And I think I heard you. I remember hearing you.”

Sherlock stiffened.

“Did you say anything? Did you... tell me anything?”

“I asked you for a miracle.”

“Did you say anything else?”

Sherlock's cheeks turned red with embarrassment. Unable to tell the truth, he just shook his head. “No.”

John nodded. “Well, I'm off to bed,” he said as he heaved himself from the sofa. It took him a few moments to gain his balance and then he was off to his room. But before he was gone, he looked back at Sherlock and smiled a warm smile. “And by the way, I love you too.”

 


End file.
